Ends of the Earth

Some people make a bucket list and never get around to any of it. I’m not “some people.” I’m luckier than most, I would say. There was no rhyme or reason for me to blow a buck on the lotto, but I did. Winning two-and-a-half million after taxes was the impetus for this trip.

There are places I want to see, and many of them only allow a few people a year in to protect them. Those are the places I most want to see. After two years of getting permits and planning travel, I’m checking things off my bucket list.

The first time I saw her was at Chichen Itza. There were four of us that had been granted permission to climb Kukulkan with researchers. Besides the thousands of pesos we had to pay for the permits, we were expected to help the researchers carry their equipment up and down the pyramid.

The other two were a German man and an Italian man. Neither caught my eye as anything interesting, but her, wearing a floppy chartreuse hat with neon pink hair…one just cannot ignore that.

Where I had expected her to be a princess based on her clothes and the expensive camera she carried, she hauled more gear up the pyramid than either of the men and did it with a cheerful smile.

At the top, I let the view soak in. This was not a trip for photos, this was a trip for experiences.

“We girls have to stick together,” she said, her Irish lilt and soft voice like honey to my ears. “Beautiful.”

“It is,” I said.

“That too.”

My ability to socialize was used up, we didn’t speak any more. The fact that she picked up on it and didn’t push left an impression.

Yirga Chefe, Ethiopia wasn’t on my bucket list, but it did seem an interesting place to spend a week since my next location’s dates had been bumped due to weather. There in the hotel lobby was the floppy, chartreuse hat with neon pink hair spilling out. It was the Irish woman I’d seen in Mexico. The question was, what was she doing in Ethiopia?

In another of my impulsive moves, I decided to talk to her first. Before nervousness could completely remove my voice, I crossed the lobby to where she sat drinking coffee.

“Hi. What am I doing here…I mean, you…here…doing…?”

The smile that danced in her green eyes was gentle, genuine. She laughed, and I could tell it was not at my expense. “Hello again, mystery woman,” she said. “I’m just here for about a week before I head out for my next adventure. You?”

“I…uh,” was all I could say. I nodded.

“How about you meet me here for breakfast in the morning?” she asked. “I’m Diane, by the way.”

I nodded again and tried to get my name out. “Mir—Miranda,” I managed to squeak out.

“I’ll see you for breakfast in the morning, Miranda.”

I nodded and pointed at the door. “I’ve…got…a thing….” Heart pounding, face burning, I left the hotel at a run. I don’t socialize well, but that was bad even for me. There was something about her that flustered me to the core.

I wandered through the town, stopping on the outskirts where a herd of goats were moving toward the hills. The boy that led them stopped and smiled broadly at me. He said something in Amharic. I don’t know what it was, but the goats took interest in me as well.

The raw curiosity in their gaze brought a chuckle to my lips. While a few of the adults were standing around me, interested in this pale person in strange clothes, three kids came galumphing through to stop at my feet.

As I knelt down to give them scratches, the goatherd was saying something I didn’t understand. Once I was eye level with the kids, they jumped on me, using me as a playground.

While that was going on, two of the adults began rubbing against me. I scratched and petted every goat that got within reach. The combination of nerves, embarrassment, shyness, and fear that I’d made a fool of myself melted away.

Before too long, I was laid out in the dirt with kids standing on me, goats laying on me, and I was laughing uncontrollably. The boy clapped his hands and said something that got all the goats’ attention. He waved at me and turned his back on the goats and walked toward the hills. The goats took off as one, following him.

I was glad the hotel had a laundry, as I didn’t want all my clothes to smell like goat, even if the odor brought a happy memory. Breakfast was far less awkward than I’d expected. Diane was capable of carrying a conversation on her own, while making me feel included.

We had breakfast every day, with a conversation spread out enough that I could manage it. Diane was taking a year off to explore the world. We avoided talking about finances, but I got the sense that she came from money, without letting it affect her over much.

She saw me off when I got on the bus to travel back to Addis Ababa where I would board a flight to Santiago, Chile. The flight provided time to sleep, and too much time to think things over. I didn’t know her last name, or whether she still lived in Ireland or merely had a permanent lilt; one that I could listen to all day, every day. I dreamt of her reading me to sleep.

I shook it off as the plane landed in Rio for refueling. I’d seen her twice in my seven months of travels, for a total of eight days between Mexico and Ethiopia. Why is she stuck in my head?

After landing in Santiago and taking a small prop plane to Punta Arenas, I had convinced myself that I’d never see her again. Boarding the research ship, I got the tour and safety lecture. There was plenty to keep my mind occupied other than romantic ideation.

The research team was a mix of scientists from organizations around the world. They were doing research on microplastics, temperatures, acidity, and the state of krill in the Southern Ocean.

I expected the boat to dock in Antarctica. Instead, when it came time to drop off two of the scientists, several dozen GPS trackers on ice spikes, and myself, we were loaded on the helicopter. As we flew over the ice, the pilot pointed out where McMurdo was in the distance, and Phoenix Airfield, closer to the ship’s location, right below us.

We disembarked and moved away quickly, as the pilot informed us a ski plane was inbound. There was little time between when the helicopter cleared the runway and the twin-engine ski plane landed.

The first person off the plane wore a chartreuse parka. Where does one even find that? The irrational part of my mind tried to tell me it was Diane, but I knew that couldn’t be right. A duffel bag of mail was set off to the side as the passengers grabbed their luggage and the plane moved to the fueling area.

The person in the chartreuse parka turned toward me, and her neon pink hair blew around her face. I wasn’t sure whether she was actually there, or I was hallucinating.

“Miranda!” She waved at me and bounded toward me as fast as she could in heavy boots, cold weather gear, and lugging a suitcase.

I’m sure I looked insensate, as I was stunned beyond words.

“You must be here for the three-week experience, right?” she asked.

I nodded. We were about to spend three weeks together in Antarctica. Somehow, all I could focus on were her eyes.

Her touch on my chin was light, gentle like her smile. “Your mouth is hanging open.” She leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “I’d be doing the same if I wasn’t nervously chattering at you. Is this fate?”

I’m not sure what I muttered, but we were interrupted by the sound of a red bus on gigantic wheels pulling to a stop. In white, block letters the bus was marked as “Ivan the Terra Bus.” Stairs folded down as the door opened.

We piled on, along with twenty or so others who had gotten off the plane. The bus had room to spare.

The ride to “downtown” McMurdo wasn’t long, but I was glad for the heat in the bus. Even in the height of summer, the temperature was still just below freezing, and the winds cut to the bone.

McMurdo looked like a military installation, all Quonset huts and utilitarian buildings. When we stopped at the “bus station,” a small wooden shelter with a bench and a sign overhead that said, “Derelict Junction,” we piled off and got our belongings.

There was a woman waiting there for those of us taking part in the “Antarctic Experience.” The seven of us followed her across the street to the brown apartment buildings. We went into the third building down and she assigned apartments to us in groups of two and three.

Diane and I ended up sharing an apartment. It was far more luxurious than I would have guessed. Each apartment was given a radio for emergency contact, and we were informed to always check in by phone or radio before venturing outside, and again once we were safely indoors.

While there wasn’t a lot to do at McMurdo aside from going to Gallagher’s Pub, McMurdo Station Pizza, and Amaza Cafe, we weren’t bored. We had each other. Diane found her way into my “zone,” where I could talk without feeling drained. I found my way into her zone as well, helping her find the calm that would let her sit quietly for a while.

It was the day before our flight back to Santiago, Chile, when she looked up at me from where she lay on my lap. “Miranda,” she asked, “is this just a vacation fling or is it more?”

“I—I’m not sure,” I said.

“I’ve been away from home for almost a year, and the second anniversary of my parents’ death is coming up. I want to go home for it, but I don’t want to be alone.” She grabbed my hand and looked away.

“Where’s home?” I asked.

“Baileyshannon, Ireland.”

I thought about the other places on my list. Visiting them alone no longer sounded enticing. In another impulsive moment I squeezed her hand. “The internet is slow here, but I can have a ticket booked before we leave. I love—I’d love to be there for you.” I felt heat crawling up my face and my voice grew timid. “And…it’s more if you really want it.”

As she lay sleeping next to me that night, I smiled. I don’t know what I was looking for, traveling to the ends of the Earth, but I ended up finding my heart.